


Champions

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF, MCFC RPF
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 19:05:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/613211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Various post title win snippets.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sergio Agüero/Pablo Zabaleta

**Author's Note:**

> Because Kun just [looked (around 17:20 or so)](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LnxnPl8A4rY&feature=youtu.be) so completely overwhelmed when he came down the tunnel after the game and Pablo is the steadiest guy around.

_Sergio Agüero/Pablo Zabaleta_

When Kun arrives in the dressing room, still shaking and unsteady on his feet, Pablo reaches him first. The room is alive with raucous noise and frenetic movement but Pablo is still and quiet. 

He takes Kun’s face in his hands. He runs his thumbs under his eyes and wipes away the traces of tears still clinging to his skin. He kisses him, just under his eye, then again just off his mouth. 

Kun turns his head and lets his mouth brush Pablo’s. Pablo tastes of salt, of tears and sweat. Kun opens his mouth and breathes him in and everything within in him stills--settles--and he’s calm and steady on his feet again.


	2. Samir Nasri/Micah Richards + lollipop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not actually how Micah got his lollipop, but let's pretend, okay?

_Samir Nasri/Micah Richards + lollipop_

[ ](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=mr_lollipop2edited.jpg)

Samir has a lollipop in his mouth. It’s the first thing Micah notices. When Samir sees him, he smiles, wide and open, the stick of the lollipop jammed in the corner of his mouth. “Micah! Micah! Hello!” he says. His voice is rough, from screaming, Micah thinks, screaming and-- He cuts that thought off. He can’t think about that now. Even so, he can’t stop staring at Samir’s mouth. He’s so caught up staring that he forgets to say hello back. Samir touches his wrist then wraps his hand around it. “Micah?”

“You, ah, you’ve a lollipop.” It’s not what he meant to say and, on top of that, it’s really got to be the least brilliant thing he could have said. 

Samir lets go of his wrist and smiles, close mouthed and a bit secretive. He moves the lollipop so that the stick is right in the middle of his mouth and sucks. Micah can just barely hear the wet, almost obscene sound of it. “Why?” he stammers, “ah, um...” He grasps for something--anything--to say. Samir’s watching him, still smiling, fiddling with the stick. “Who, ah, who gave it to you?” he says, trying for a normal tone, but his voice shakes a bit, “And--and, uh, why didn’t they give me one, huh?” It’s the best he can do. It’s meant to give him something else to focus on, something besides the small sounds of Samir sucking away on the sweet, something besides the way his mouth looks pursed around the stick. It doesn’t really work. All he can think about is how his mouth looked wrapped around something else. 

Samir tips his head to the side and slides the lollipop out of his mouth and rests it on his lower lip. It’s red, the lollipop, and Micah can’t stop staring at it, can’t stop staring at Samir’s parted lips. “Gaël,” Samir says, “Do you want...”

“I, uh...” is all Micah can manage because Samir hadn’t said _do you want a lollipop_ and all he’d heard was _want_. And, now, all he can think of is all the things he wants, all the things he never thought he would want, not until-- Samir’s still smiling and the way he has the lollipop, half in half out of his mouth, makes Micah remember, makes him shaky and overheated because all he can see is-- He has to look away, has to think about something else. “Yeah,” he manages to say, “Think I do, think Gaël would--” 

Samir touches his wrist and interrupts him, “Micah, look here, at me.” 

Micah looks back. Samir’s taken the lollipop out of his mouth. Micah can’t tell if that’s better or worse because it’s left his mouth sticky and stained red. “Open,” Samir says, running his fingers along Micah’s wrist, “Open your mouth.” 

“Sami,” Micah chokes, desperate and startled, “Sami, what...” and Samir slips the lollipop into his mouth.

“There,” he says with a smile, as the bright, artificial taste of cherry bursts across Micah’s tongue. It’s how Samir would taste, Micah thinks wildly, if he kissed him right now. ”Now you have one.” He wraps his hand around Micah’s wrist. “Happy?” His smile wavers a bit as he looks expectantly up at Micah. Micah can’t have that. He wants Samir’s regular smile. The one that’s unrestrainedly joyful and takes over his whole face.

He shifts the lollipop into the side of his mouth. “Yeah,” he says, reaching out to run his hand along Samir’s side, “M’happy, Sami, I--yeah.” Samir smiles up at him, impossibly brilliant, and that’s what Micah wanted to see. He smiles back and, it doesn’t seem like it should be possible, but Samir smiles even wider. 

( _Sometime later_

Kolo leans into Gaël’s back, puts his hands on his hips and says in his ear, “I thought you gave that to Samir?”

Gaël leans back into Kolo, rests his head on his shoulder and says with a smile, “Well, really it was for Micah so...” and Kolo laughs.)


	3. Joe Hart/David Silva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sex against a wall.

_Joe Hart/David Silva_

[ ](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=ds_jh_nowatermarks_5_13_12edited.jpg)

It’s late, early, when they finally stagger through Joe’s front door, morning but still dark. They’re barely upright, clinging to each other and trying to stay on their feet. They clatter into the table by the door and almost tumble onto the floor. David grabs at Joe’s shirt but, instead, his hand tangles in the ribbon of his medal. Joe laughs because, if he’s going to fall, there’s no chance David’ll be able to keep him from falling. David’s laughing too, manic and a bit hoarse.

Joe manages, somehow, to right them before they hit the floor. “We,” he says, breathless and caught by the way David’s looking at him, by the open happiness writ all over his face, “we’ve got to watch out, yeah?” David untangles his hand from Joe’s medal, smoothes out the ribbon so that the medal lays flat against his chest. David’s own medal is long gone. He’d given it to his mum which tells Joe everything he needs to know about just how important that medal--their win--is to him. She has his World Cup medal.

David tugs on Joe’s medal, hard enough that the ribbon digs uncomfortably into his neck. He doesn’t care, though, because David’s smiling and saying with awed disbelief, “Joe, can you believe we--we--” He tugs harder on the medal, dragging Joe down and pushing up. “We,” he says, one more time, and then he kisses him. It’s what Joe’s wanted since the moment he saw David after the final whistle. He’d contented himself with hugs and, later, with picking him up and whirling him around. He’s still amazed David’d allowed that. This, though, David’s mouth, greedy and demanding on his, this is what he’d really wanted. 

He pushes him against the wall and takes and takes, trying to satisfy a craving that will never be satisfied. He’ll never have enough of David--of _this_. They should go upstairs, get in bed, shouldn’t do this at all, should really just go and try to sleep. But that would mean letting go of David and Joe doesn’t want to let him go-- _can’t_ let him go.

David abandons his grip on Joe’s medal and pushes his shirt up, scrambles at the buttons of his pants. “David,” he gasps between kisses, “David, _please._ ” 

Then David has his hand on him. His hand is warm and his grip is sure. He slides his hand roughly up and down Joe’s cock. He’s hard so fast he’s dizzy with it. He pushes forward, rutting into David’s hand, pressing and rubbing against him, desperate to be as close as possible. 

He fumbles between them, trying to return the favor. He’s clumsy, from the pleasure, from the drink, from the high of winning. His hands are shaking and he can’t make them do what he wants them to. David’s mumbling, low and breathless, nothing he can understand. He stops touching Joe and Joe, bereft, can’t stop himself from whining desperately. He wants David’s hand back on him. “ _Shhh_ ,” David says, “hold, Joe,” then he lapses into Spanish. 

Joe pulls back a little as David undoes his own pants. As soon as he’s done, though, Joe pushes back against him. It’s good, so good, but it doesn’t quite work. David tugs on his shirt. He reaches up and digs his fingers into his shoulders. “Joe, _Joe_ , you, up, yes? Like you, before, _up_...”

It takes him a second, but when he gets it, he doesn’t hesitate. He hauls David up. Doesn’t bother being too careful, either, but David doesn’t seem to care. He claws at Joe’s shoulders, pulling, like he’s trying to help Joe get him up. Then he wraps himself around him, legs around his waist, arms around his neck, and this is so much better. “There,” he says, gasping, “there is, _Joe_ \--” 

Joe kisses him and pushes against him. It’s rough, almost mindless, him rutting against David. David’s kissing him with increasing desperation. He runs his fingers through Joe’s hair, tugs and pulls, too hard, but the pain is just part of it all. It spikes his pleasure higher. He’s talking too, gasping against Joe’s cheek, his breath hot against Joe’s skin. He’s mumbling, babbling streams of words that Joe can’t understand. He doesn’t care, not when he’s so wrapped up in David, surrounded by him.

It shouldn’t be enough to drive him so crazy, not really, but now, today, still riding the high from earlier, it’s enough, more than enough. He buries his face in David’s neck, gasps out his name, mouthes it against his skin, and comes. The head spinning intensity of it surprises him--staggers him. 

David’s still moving against him. He scrapes his nails down Joe’s neck and then he’s saying Joe’s name, sobbing it in his ear and shuddering against him. 

He can’t hold David up any longer, can barely hold himself up. He steps back, lets David slide down him. He steadies him, puts his hands on his hips. “David,” he manages, “David, _God,_ ” and David clumsily pats his chest.

“Joe,” David says, “Joe, I am, today, I am glad, for this, with you, us, I am...” His voice is raw, his expression unguarded in a way that it rarely is, “Joe, I...” 

Joe kisses him, because, whatever David’s about to say, he’s not sure he can bear it, not right now. “David,” he says after, “David, I, me too, yeah?” David smiles and it’s like winning all over again.

( _On the Bus_

[ ](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=jh_ds_cuddle_bus_5_14_12edited.jpg)

“So,” Johno says, nudging Joe with his elbow, “What’s with him?” He tips his head toward David.

Joe shrugs. “He didn’t want to get out of bed, plus, you know, this ain’t exactly his kind of thing.”

Johno nudges him again, harder, and says with speculative mischievousness, “Didn’t want to get out of _whose_ bed?”

Joe shoves him. “C’mon Johno, not here.”

Johno throws his head back and hoots with laughter. “I knew it. I fucking knew it. Couldn’t get it out of David but I knew it. Gaz owes me 20 quid.” 

“Wait? What?” Joe starts to say but Johno’s already gone, off to hassle Gaz.

Joe looks over at David. He’s still in that corner, smashed between Savic and the side of the bus. He looks bored and he’s hunched up, like he does when he’s cold. Joe smiles at him and, to his surprise, David actually smiles back. Joe stares at his smile and thinks, really, this is nice and all, but he’s with David, he’d rather still be in bed.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to [this](http://www.telegraph.co.uk/sport/football/teams/manchester-city/8842232/Manchester-United-v-Manchester-City-David-Silva-the-invisible-man-ready-to-take-centre-stage.html) article, Silva's Mama does indeed look after his World Cup medal.


	4. James Milner/David Silva

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David seems a bit down and it bothers James though he's not sure why.

_James Milner/David Silva_

[ ](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=ds_jm_5_14_12_busedited.jpg)

On the day of the parade, David’s quiet. When James slings his arm around his neck and asks how he is, all he gets in answer is a smile. He doesn’t think much about it, not at first. David’s tired. They’re all tired, exhausted, and, when David’s tired, his English slips away. He starts answering everyone in Spanish, if he answers at all, because exhaustion drives away all his hard-earned understanding.

Then, though, David settles himself in the back corner of the bus and stays there, stays quiet, and James starts, not to worry, not that, it’s just he notices and it seems odd. It reminds him of David’s early days, when he drifted around the edges, saying nothing and smiling all the time. He has the same smile now. It’s fixed and lifeless and doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Still, James doesn’t give it much thought.

He throws himself into things. Enjoys the banter and the crowds. He lets himself go a little crazy because they earned it, this moment in the bright May sun, and it’s time to relax a little, to enjoy the moment before it’s gone. 

He keeps an eye on David, though, looks over periodically to see how he’s doing. David doesn’t move. He stays put. James catches him occasionally smiling at the crowd or waving but other than that he doesn’t move. The lads next to him are wrapped up in each other and David seems unbearably alone.

Finally James has had enough, of what he’s not quite sure, but he’s had enough, and he goes over and barges his way into David’s space, gets right up in front of him so he’s practically between David’s knees. “So, what?” he says, “You just gonna stay here the whole time?”

David doesn’t even startle, doesn’t even look particularly surprised that James is suddenly there in front of him. “James,” he says, voice subdued, “hello.” 

“Enough of this,” James says, grabbing David’s wrist, “C’mon.” He drags David up and, somewhat surprisingly, David, without complaint, lets him. He hauls him over to the railing, to where Gaz and Joe and Johno are all milling about. “See,” he says dumbly, not sure what else to say, “view’s ace from over here, isn’t it?” He still has his hand wrapped around David’s wrist. 

David smiles and shrugs. “Yes. Okay. Is very nice.”

James wants to do something stupid, like run his thumb along the inside of David’s wrist and ask him what’s wrong, to try and fix it. He drops David’s wrist and leans on the rail. David mirrors his movement and leans next to him. He nudges his shoulder against James’. “Are you,” James says without thinking, “how’re you, eh David?”

David hunches up a bit. “Cold,” he says flatly. 

“Well, ah,” James says, unsure how exactly to respond. He settles for tugging on David’s hood and saying, “We can fix that, can’t we?” He forces the hood over David’s head. He puts up a bit of a struggle but it gets him to laugh and he smiles at James. James pats his head. “There, all better, yeah?”

David shifts, so their arms are pressed together. “Yes. Is much better.” They stay there awhile, pressed together, watching the crowds go by. Then Johno comes by and grabs James’ arm. “C’mon,” he says, “C’mere,” and starts to pull James away. He tries to catch David’s arm, to pull him along with them, but David shoves his hand away. 

He gets caught up in Johno’s craziness for a while. When he finally looks back at David, he’s still where he’d left him. He’s gazing out into the crowd but he seems to be looking past them, at something far away, something James can’t see. He’s not even smiling anymore. He looks remote--untouchable--and James wants him here, with them, enjoying the day and the sun, not lost wherever he is. 

He breaks away from Johno, who’s busy jumping up and down with Joe, and goes and grabs David. David startles, says something in Spanish, but James doesn’t bother with that. Instead, he drags him away from the rail, back toward Johno and Joe. “C’mon,” he says, “C’mon.” He jostles him a bit, jumps up and down next to him. 

“James--James--” He’s laughing helplessly, trying to pull away. James isn’t letting him go, because he’s here, _with James_ , happy and laughing. 

They crash into Johno who laughs and says, “David, hey, hey you’re here,” and starts bouncing. He throws his arm around James’ shoulder. “C’mon,” he yells in James’ ear, “C’mon." He’s still bouncing. 

Joe’s on his other side and he yells, “Get David to--” 

James hauls David closer. “C’mon,” he says in David’s ear, “C’mon.” David wraps his arm around his waist and starts to bounce, just a little at first, like he’s humoring him, then more and more, faster and faster. He’s still laughing, right in James’ ear.

Johno stops first. He stumbles back and says, “Enough, enough, I can’t...” He’s panting a bit.

David stops next. “Okay,” he says, “James, okay?” James turns so he can see his face. He looks, for the first time since they’ve gotten on the bus, happy. 

James isn’t sure why that’s important to him but it is. It makes him unaccountably uncomfortable. “Yeah,” he says, dropping his arm from David’s shoulders, “Okay. All right.” 

David smiles and leans back against the rail. James settles next to him, purposely putting a bit of distance between them. He busies himself waving at the crowd. For the rest of the parade, he leaves David be, lets him do what he wants. 

Later, when he finds David to say goodbye, David has that blank and faraway expression back on his face. “You’re,” James can’t stop himself from asking, “you’re really all right?” 

David smiles a little. “Yes James. Am tired only.” Then he hugs him and kisses both his cheeks. He’s never done that with him before. He only really does it with the other lads from places where that’s a thing that you do and with Johno to wind him up. This doesn’t feel like a wind up, though, it seems sincere. “I will,” he says, “see you soon, James, okay?” 

“Yeah,” James says, absently touching his cheek, and, he’s sure it’s his imagination, but it’s like he can feel the lingering heat of David’s mouth on his skin, “Sure, soon.” David smiles again then turns and walks away. “Good luck,” James calls after him, because he wants to say something more but that’s all he can think to say, “at Euros.” 

David turns back and waves. “You also,” he yells back and then he’s gone and James feels like he’s taking something with him, something of James’, but he’s not sure what.

[ ](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=ds_ajback_jh_bus_5_14_12edited.jpg)


	5. Joe Hart + Gael Clichy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gael tries to dye Joe's hair blue.

_Joe Hart & Gaël Clichy_

  
[](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=gael_bluehair_5_13_12edited.jpg) [](http://s1203.photobucket.com/albums/bb396/justkisa/?action=view&current=gc_jh_v_QPR_5_13_12edited.jpg)

Gaël’s hair is blue. Bright, garish blue. That’s the first thing Joe notices when Gaël comes bouncing up to him. “Joe,” he says, more like yells, still bouncing, “Joe,” he tugs on Joe’s jersey, “Joe come down here and we will give you some blue also.”

Joe tries to back away, because, no, just no, but he runs straight into the bench. “Gaël no, absolutely not, no blue.” 

Gaël pouts and keeps trying to pull Joe down. “But Joe, it is to celebrate our great win, everything is blue. I am blue. Micah,” he gestures wildly with the can of hair color, “he is blue. We will all be blue.”

Joe snatches the can. “No. M’not putting this shit in my hair.” 

Gaël slumps a bit and Joe feels kind of bad. Nobody, least of all him, likes to see that kicked puppy look on Gaël’s face. He’s this close to agreeing, just to get Gaël to smile and bounce again, when Gaël brightens and says, “Okay Joe. No blue for you. I think it is better. Your hair, it is too pretty to cover up, no?” Before Joe can splutter a response to that ridiculousness, Gaël bounces up and says, “Yes, much too pretty,” and kisses him square on the mouth. Then he skips away leaving Joe staring after him, can of hair color in his hand, wondering what the fuck just happened. 

He slumps back and rubs his hand over his mouth. He turns to Samir, who’s standing nearby, grinning manically at Joe. “What,” he asks, “is he drinking? ‘cause I think I want some of that.” 

Samir, if possible, grins wider and says with terrifying glee, “Nothing.”

“Really?” Joe can’t quite believe it. 

Samir shrugs and says, with something close to pure joy, “We won. What else does he need?”


End file.
